


Maria

by Spinning_Mouse



Category: Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Canon Typical Violence, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2020-08-05
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:01:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25721758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spinning_Mouse/pseuds/Spinning_Mouse
Summary: The final battle at Zion. The courier doesn't want to be there. She just wants a way out.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 8





	Maria

It was chaos in the dark. Most of the white legs were occupied above, their blood streaming down the cliff sides like a torn artery connected to a stuttering heart. It mixed with the water, taking on a dark hue in the night as it flowed downstream. 

Jesse ignored it.

A white leg popped into view. She put a bullet in his head. Fresh blood curled around her legs as she splashed past the body. A hint of red was visible in the moonlight before being swept away.

(Would blood soak into her socks?)

Was it blasphemous, she wondered, to let the blood of the enemy soak into a “holy” land? What would Graham think once it drained into the ground water? Soaked into the silt and clay, mixing with the dirt before being absorbed by the roots of plants. How would he feel if he ate vegetables literally grown from the blood of his enemies? Would he be disgusted? Would he feel that this land had been violated? Would he care at all? Or would he consider it a _necessary evil_?

(It must be easy to be able to use such a term with sincerity. No need to question.)

(Not that she could ask anyway. He’d long since run ahead, as if she were another star struck follower he could expect to stay on his heels.)

More White Legs appeared. (Were the tribals being overwhelmed?) She killed two with Maria, the easiest weapon to access and the only one she’d needed so far. There was a pause before a third, however, as she mentally counted bullets. Only one left in this pistol.

She jumped back at the realization, shoving Maria back into its holster and swinging her rifle off her back. There was a moment of adrenaline and focus as she aimed, the last White Leg almost moving too quickly for her to fire. He was close enough for blood to splatter on her sleeve as the bullet sliced through his neck.

(And no good water to clean it with.)

The canyon narrowed. Time must have passed, but she couldn’t tell how much. The sounds of the battle began to fade behind her. 

There. Graham, standing with his back to her in a pool bathed in moonlight with the normally crystal clear water clouded by the multitude of bodies surrounding him.

(Not all were White Legs.)

He held a .45 to the head of a kneeling white leg, finger resting on the trigger. Based on the White Leg’s outfit, he must have been the infamous leader Graham was so keen to kill.

“…the only use for an animal in our temple is sacrifice.”

Graham must not have realized Jesse was there. He spoke so seriously, anger layered into voice, with all his focus on his prey.

She laughed. A giggle at first, but it quickly grew into something hysterical. Salt-Upon-Wounds startled at the sound, then stared at her with a mess of emotions; fear, confusion, maybe even anger. Graham barely even twitched.

(Jesse felt empty.)

“Now this,” she breathed, “is priceless. Getting to watch the great Joshua Graham, the famous Burned Man, get back to his roots. I bet those people of yours would be so _proud_.”

No response. Nothing but the sounds of Salt-Upon-Wound’s erratic breathing and the gentle lapping of water. 

Jesse hated it.

(She’d never hated the quiet so much in her life.)

“What, nothing to say? Oh, I’m not ruining the mood for you, am I? You have some very serious, important murder to commit after all. Anything I can do to help? Maybe a nice cross to lash him too. Make a proper show out of it for everyone.”

She moved forward, one slow step at a time as she spoke, eyes trained on Graham’s hand. His finger had only tightened on the trigger, a hair’s breadth away from firing. 

“Really? Come on, there’s no point in lying anymore. No point in the scripture quotes, the bullshit prayers.”

She spoke carefully, gleefully enunciating each word with sharp clarity to ensure he didn’t miss a syllable. 

(So close. She could see an end in sight.)

“Time to show us who you really are, _Legate_.”

He moved so fast. The barrel of his weapon sat levelled between her eyes before she could think to react. It was almost close enough to grab.

(Not that she would try. Not that she even could.)

She was aware of Salt-Upon-Wounds running, desperately splashing away in the opposite direction. Graham didn’t seem to care.

For the first time that night she looked into his eyes. Even with most of his face covered in bandages, a fury backed up by decades of violence and cruelty and power shone through. 

(When was the last time she felt so small?)

“What,” she said, voice just loud enough for him to hear, “stopping already? Is this not part of that grand, ancient tradition you keep going on about? No bible story coming to mind to justify it? Or are you planning to keep pretending you even care?”

Her voice began to rise as old emotions surfaced, coalescing together into her own desperate rage.

She stepped closer. Graham twitched.

“You aren’t faithful. You’re a goddamn liar, a deposed tyrant so lost without control you swept in here and took over like you thought you were the next fucking Jesus. So go on! Do what you’re good at. Take out another degenerate and do your Caesar PROUD!”

He was _surprised_. She almost laughed. 

Voices from behind-the survivors of the battle were on their way. Almost around the corner. Just another few seconds and the moment will have passed-

Graham lowered his gun.

“You will not find what you’re looking for here.”

(What?)

She didn’t know what to say. 

She wanted to scream.

He pushed past her like nothing, like she wasn’t even an obstacle. A mix of conversation and orders from Graham drifted through the air. She heard a few inquiries that seemed directed at her, but she made no move to turn around. Eventually they all began to fade away once again, back down the canyon, until all she could hear was the bloody water streaming by her legs.

It was over, this time.

They had won.

***

She was almost gone. One last bridge to...not here. 

_“Don’t let me see you in the Mojave,” she had said._

_“God be with you,” was the response._

It was bright (too bright) and warm (enough to make her sweat). She’d scrubbed her duster in the river that morning (the water was clear) and the still-damp material weighed her down uncomfortably. 

The end of the bridge. She glanced back, a glimpse of the valley just visible over the rocks. The view hadn’t changed at all in the short weeks she’d been here. It made sense it wouldn’t have, she supposed. 

It really was quite beautiful, in its own way.

She wasn’t sure she could stand it for much longer. 

Maria bounced against her hip as she once again turned towards the path out. She never did reload it. Strange how heavy it was with only one bullet. Almost too heavy.

(Should have left it at the 38.)

(Should have reloaded the damn thing.)

(She should…)

A step forward. Just one.

Then another.

And another.

The world changed as she traveled. The air thicker with dust and debris, the sky less blue. Signs of pollution marking the ground and hanging in the air.

Signs of…familiarity. 

Days, maybe weeks later, she watched a red sunset fall behind the peak of the Lucky 38. She thought of the people she knew would be inside, and the whole corrupted little oasis behind the walls. The closest thing to civilization, barely a day away. A cesspool of lies and greed and filth.

At least, for now.

She cleaned weapons as she watched. Checked ammo and supplies. Half working from feeling alone as the light faded.

It wasn’t until the sun set, the desert bathed in the deep blues and greys of night, that she picked Maria up again. Considered it, for just a moment. An easy solution to her problems, always at the ready. 

With a few quick motions ingrained into her muscle memory over years of practice, she replaced the magazine in the dark.

(One step forward.)

**Author's Note:**

> Does any of this even make sense. I can't even tell lmao


End file.
